A Little Like Hope
by BecauseHeroesNeverDie
Summary: Alfons wanted to reach his next birthday, but he knew that he wouldn't last the year. He'd be gone before the first snowflakes swirled down onto the cobbled streets of Munich and there was not a single thing that he could do to stop it.


He was terrified by the blood that pooled up in his palm, burning his fingers with the warmth of life as it dripped down his hand. He coughed again, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. It hurt so much to breath, each heaving gulp of air burned in his chest. In his weakness, he failed to stop the tears from pouring down his cheeks. He raised his hand to wipe them away, realizing a moment too late that his blood-soaked fingers were inches from his face.

He swallowed, almost gagging as the metallic scent rose to his nose. He longed for the comforting scent of oil burning, of machinery in motion.

He was dying and he knew it.

Alfons could not see a single ray of light. The world was a dark, stormy sea and he was drowning in it. There was no hope. Not even in the sky.

He watched as rocket after rocket soared into the sky, stolen away by its own determination and the wind's empty promises. The sky would never give them back.

The crowds craned their necks and let out a thousand tiny awestruck gasps as the rockets soared to places man could only dream of.

The sky was too far away and they were too small to reach it. Not even on the tips of their toes. Not even in a rocket.

There was no hope at all.

But then, Edward came, with his strange eyes that glowed with golden fire. Like the broken scraps of sunshine that struggled through the clouds on a stormy evening. Light that shined strongly to make up for lost time before the sunset. Because the storms had taken the sun away, drowned it in gray skies. Yet in the end the sun returned. A little bit like hope.

His heart had stopped the moment he had seen Edward. He looked so much like his brother.

"Ed!"

"Alphonse!"

Words spoken like magic, as if they could bring back days long dead.

They stopped a moment, staring at each other. In each face the two could see something they'd thought was lost forever. But only a shadow. Alfons knew this the moment he heard his voice.

That was not the voice he had listened to for hours, sharing stories of life beyond their home town. His brother had left when he was old enough. All his stories were lighthearted; he never wanted to dwell on what he saw that was wrong. He had never lost hope, even in the face of all the suffering he saw. All he saw was the light, as if everything was soaked in the sun.

But he was dead. There was nothing he could do anymore. Not even in a world filled with all those possibilities that he had believed in.

Sorrowful, knowing glances danced in blue and gold orbs.

Perhaps they had a lot more in common than they thought.

Seconds later, the moment was broken.

"I don't think I know you, but you did get my name right. What are you, some kind of magician?" Alfons laughed, feeling the need to make this strange boy laugh with him.

For some reason, he grew more serious, staring up at the sky with a wistful half-smile. He had the look of someone lounging for something that was always just out of reach. That mingled air of melancholy and frustration seemed to seep into the air.

Alfons found that he understood this expression. The world was starting to feel much too large again, as if he was a child again. Always reaching for the highest shelf, gaining nothing but a collection of cuts, scrapes and bruises.

Alfons wanted to reach his next birthday, but he knew that he wouldn't last the year. He'd be gone before the first snowflakes swirled down onto the cobbled streets of Munich and there was not a single thing that he could do to stop it..

The boy's gaze was back on him, his face made up of grim straight lines.

"I'm an alchemist," he whispered. The words drifted away on a sudden wind, blown far up into the sky where clouds, stars and, perhaps, other worlds reside.

Alfons had caught the words, though. He laughed, so strongly and loudly he started to cough.

"Are you all right?" The boy, the alchemist, Edward stared at him with concerned eyes. Like his own brother would have, if he had been there.

"Just a cold," was his automatic reply. He was getting used to answering that question with a small smile. He wasn't sure that anyone believed him. He'd never been a good actor.

"Are you sure? It didn't sound like that." Gold eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What do you mean you're an alchemist?" Alfons decided to redirect the conversation, chuckling only a little this time.

"That's exactly what I mean. Why would I say something if I didn't mean it?" Edward frowned. Clearly Alfons wasn't quite who Edward had thought he was. Somehow, he felt guilty. The boy had sounded so cheerful, so happy to see him. He hated to ruin that.

Later on, he found out Edward had nowhere to go, so naturally he let him stay at his apartment. He wasn't trying to replace his brother, but it was nice to have someone around. Someone to talk to.

He learned very quickly that there was no way Edward could survive in the world. That was probably way he'd created that other world he could talk about for hours and hours. Amestris. He spoke so fondly of it, as if he honestly believed it was his home. He was lost, so painfully lost.

The more he learned about him, the more confused he was.

It was a huge shock to find out that half his limbs weren't even real. Alfons had found that out on the first day he had met Edward. His hand had been crushed in a piece of machinery that Alfons had told him not to touch. He merely held up a mangled collection of wires and plastic, grinning sheepishly at him.

He couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten that. Alfons wondered what sort of childhood he had. Maybe that's what had made him strange. Or maybe he just couldn't live like everyone else.

Whatever the reason, there was something different about Edward.

Alfons wished he would believe in the real world. His adventure stories were always great for a laugh, but he needed to wake up.

Amestris wasn't real.

Germany was.

Alfons was. For how much longer, he wasn't sure. But for now, he was.

He couldn't even see that Alfons was dying a little more each day. Didn't notice the blood-soaked handkerchiefs in the wash. Didn't hear him bursting into violent fits of coughing late at night. He just lived in his dream world. He lived as if everything around him was the dream.

Alfons wished he would just grow up.

He had left, left to build rockets. If he could send men soaring past all of their dreams, past even the stars, the least they could do was remember his name.

Alfons Heiderich. He was here. He lived. He did something. He gave us the stars.

Alfons closed his eyes, his hand curling up tightly, blood sticking to his fingers. His life slowly dripped to the floor drop by drop, slowly draining the color in his eyes.

It was flying from his fingertips, falling from the gaps between his fingers. He couldn't hold on to anything anymore. He never really could, but he'd never known it before. He, like everyone else, had tricked himself into thinking he was immortal. Each beat that sounded in his chest convincing him.

Now every beat was a moment lost, every rattling breath a waste of time.

Time was so precious.

Why had he never realized that?

He was determined. His name would live beyond that lonely rock next to his mother's mossy marble on that hill where the grass was always so tall it brushed against his ankles. The grass nearly screamed in the wind.

He'd been there a few days ago. Just to take a look. He sprinted out after he left a bunch of flowers pilfered from window sills he'd passed on his walk to the cemetery on his mother's grave.

The gate had slammed with a rusty crash after he gave it a tap to close it. He leaned against the gate, specks of chipped paint digging into his arms. He closed his eyes, letting the wind push against his face.

"I'll be back soon, mother."

He wiped his fingers on his pants leg, focusing once more on his work.

He was not a dream, no matter what Edward thought.

Who could dream such a sad dream?

_**Writer's woes: **__**I'm sure this is all kinds of fail, but I'm posting it anyway. I just finished the original FMA, topped it off with the movie and all and I just had to write something. So I listened to Rakuyou again and again (on the DVD menu lol) and this just flowed out...First order of business: I know Heiderich is waaay too emo to be in character, but my excuse is I wanted to "capture what he was feeling at that moment in time." This is my claim. I will stick by it. Doesn't change anything...whatever.  
**_


End file.
